


The Campout

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Father/Son, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:31:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7922371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Briar's surprise for Bog turns into a golden opportunity for alone time and bonding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> So glad I decided to turn this into a 4-parter! Yay! More Briar and Boggy!!!

“Where are we goin’, dad?”  Bog asked as the two goblins flew from branch to mossy branch in the early afternoon of a fine summer’s day in the Dark Forest.  He’d been playing ‘Stalk the Prey’ with Pip in the tall grass when his father had appeared and asked the prince to come with him, adding that he could bring the spider along if he wanted.   

“I told ye, it’s a surprise.  That ‘asnae changed in thah las’ five minutes.”

“Well…are we almost there?”

“Almost.  Jus’ another quarter-mile.  Stay close.”

Bog hoisted Pip a bit more securely in his arms, and flapped his wings a little faster to keep up.  He had to admit, he was pretty excited about all this.  It definitely wasn’t every day that his father gave him gifts.  Really, his first staff and Pip had been the only ones thus far. 

Assuming, of course, that it actually _was_ a gift. 

For all he knew, it could be a great animal carcass that needed cleaning for meat, a newly discovered ore deposit, or even another training ground.

He knew better than to pester his father with _constant_ questions, even if it _was_ difficult due to his piqued and boyish curiosity. 

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait much longer before they finally landed on the thick, craggily bough of an enormous angel oak tree. 

The Briar King scanned where the mighty trunk had split off into several crooked directions, spreading its limbs and canopy of lush green as far as they could reach.  Then, without warning, he slowly took off to the higher part of the tree on the east-side, gesturing for his son to follow.

When the boy did just that, he found his father standing on the crook of another branch.  To the immediate left, was a large sheet of woven leaves tacked into the bark.

“Here we are.”  Briar said once Bog touched down beside him, and he pulled the leaf curtain back. 

Bog gasped when he saw that behind them, was a hollowed out space!

Without waiting for permission, or any sign that it was safe, he stepped inside and gazed all around in wonder.  It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple room with a moss bed and tiny knots on the walls and ceiling for climbing and storage.  To think something so quaint had been hiding in this huge oak!

As for Briar, he remained at the entrance, watching his son carefully in silence; analyzing his expressions of awe and absorption.  All seemed well, so far.

“What _is_ this place, dad?”  Bog asked, setting Pip on the bed so the creature could happily skitter around.

The king had expected a question of this sort eventually, but much to his frustration, it _still_ made his palms sweat and his ears burn.  Thankfully, years and years of smothering external signs of emotion kept him looking just as stiff and grim as always, though his voice did carry just a hint of an unfamiliar waver as he replied:

“It’s…yers.”

Bog spun around to gape at him.

“ _Huh_?!”

His father wouldn't meet his eye.  Instead, Briar stubbornly examined the crown of his staff, turning it this way and that as he explained his answer.

“Yer mother an’ I…talked it over an’……we both agreed tha’ yer no’ a _wee_ lad, anymore.  Ye’ve been trainin’ 'ard an’ takin’ good care o’ Pip; provin’ yer responsible, so…we decided tha’ ye should ‘ave a…place o’ yer own tah go to, when ye sometimes wan’ tah ge’ out o’ thah castle.” 

He risked a glance at his son.  Which was a bad idea, for what he saw made a frighteningly warm flutter come to life in his chest. 

Bog’s face lit up brighter and brighter at each word.  A kind of joy only a child could feel from being told they were growing up, was pulsing in his thorax.  He wanted to explode!

“Ye…ye _mean_ it?  This is really all fer _me_?  This is all _mine_?!”

“I wouldnae o’ said it if it wasnae true.”

“WOO-HOO!!!”

Briar recoiled from the gleeful outburst and watched as his son zipped around the hollow like a hummingbird while Pip ran in circles.

“THIS IS AWESOME!  MY VERY OWN CLUBHOUSE!  THANKS, DAD!  BEST PRESENT _EVER_!” 

“ ** _Ahem_**!”

The sound of his father loudly clearing his throat stopped Bog in his tracks.  In fact, both he _and_ Pip stood at attention. 

“This doesnae mean tha’ _any_ o’ mah rules ‘ave changed.”  The Briar King sternly reminded him.  “Ye’ll stay _inside_ thah perimeter markers, I expect ye tah _still_ be on time fer yer lessons, an’ ye are _never_ tah go _anywhere_ in thah Dark Forest alone withou’ takin’ a weapon _an_ ’ Pip with ye.  Is tha’ _understood_?” 

Bog gave a quick and firm nod.

“Yes, sir!”

“…Alrigh’…an’ dorn’t ferget tah thank yer mother.”

“I won’t!”  The Briar Prince promised, perking up again.  “So, can we have a campout?!”

“Well, I assumed ye an’ Pip would wanna try it out tahnight, so tha’s fine with-”

“No, no!  I mean _you_ , me, and Pip!”

Briar froze.

.

.

.

“What?”

“Yeah!  Mom said she and grandpa used to campout all the time!  Can we do it too?” 

“…Ye…ye wan’ _me_ tah……stay out ‘ere _with_ ye?”

“Uh-huh!”

Briar couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d been hit by lightening.  Never would he have anticipated such an invitation.  _He_ certainly hadn’t ever camped out with _his_ father, so the idea that _Bog_ would want this, had truly caught him off guard.  The fluttering came back with a vengeance, and he had to bite down on the instinctual rise of his defenses when such a sense of vulnerability ever touched him.  However, that didn’t stop his self-loathing from hissing venomous doubt into his head.  Surely, his son didn’t really want to spend an evening of leisure with _him_?      

“Um……wouldnae ye rather…’ave yer mother instead?”

“No, I want _you_!  We never get to do much together besides trainin’.  It’ll be fun!  _Please_ , dad?”

It was a struggle for Briar to process much after that _first_ sentence, and even once he did, Bog was already making the face at him.  A _special_ face he occasionally used when he wanted something very, very, _very_ badly.  A face that, under the right circumstances, his father could never deny.  

Damn _skies_ above, _why_ did the boy have to have such big blue eyes?

Briar grit his teeth and averted his stony gaze as he desperately tried to concentrate on reigning in his stirred feelings.  He was equal parts pleased at having his son’s affection and preference, nervous about what might unfold, and _terrified_ of ruining everything. 

But blast it all, he was the _king_!  He shouldn’t be this unsettled and shy just because his son wanted to spend more time with him. 

 

“…Ye know I ‘ave a lotta work tah do, Bog.”

The prince’s hopeful stare fell apart and his shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“…yeah…I know….”

“ _But_ ……as long as…yer mother doesnae mind 'andlin’ things on ‘er own tahnight…I dorn’t see why _somethin’_ couldnae be arranged.”

“REALLY?!  YEAH!  WE’RE HAVIN’ A CAMPOUT!  WE’RE HAVIN’ A CAMPOUT!  WE’RE HA-!”

“ _BOG_!!!”

Realizing his mistake, the goblin lad stilled and scratched the back of his head with a sheepish blush.    

“Oops, heh…s-sorry.”

Briar cocked a leafy eyebrow at him, but ultimately shook his head with merely a sigh.  The boy had his mother’s enthusiasm for sure. 

“I’ll be back in an hour with supplies.”  The king said then as he turned to leave.  “ _Stay_ in this tree until I return.” 

“We will!” 

Leaving his rambunctious offspring to race Pip at scaling the walls, Briar walked back out onto the bough, but paused before he flew away to stare across the distance at the glimpse of murky water one could just see peeking through the trees. 

A bog. 

The very same one he’d found all those years ago.   

The reason he’d picked _this_ tree in particular.

_…He’ll be safe 'ere._

A deluge of bittersweet memories tried to cloud his mind, but he dispelled them with an internal growl before they could root to the deeper and darker corners of his thoughts.  Resolute, he soared for home in the opposite direction. 

Tonight was going to be all about his son, and he was determined to make sure it was as pleasant and enjoyable as possible. 

As the sound of his father’s rustling wings faded, Bog glanced at the mouth of the hollow while he continued to play with Pip.  An eager smile spread across his lips.  Tonight was his chance to get closer to his father, and he was not about to waste it!


	2. Part II

Bog scrambled from right to left in the canoe, as if he was trying not to miss a single ripple or bit of pond scum floating on the water's surface.

“This is so _COOL_!”

"Sit still, boy!  If ye fall in, then yer _swimmin'_ back tah shore."

When Briar came back, he’d brought his pipe with nightshade tobacco, some kindling, a water gourd, a bucket, a towel, bait, and two fishing rods and tackle for the purpose of teaching Bog how to catch minnows. 

The prince had been ecstatic at the suggested past time, and instructed Pip to go hunt for his dinner while he followed his father to a vast, but secluded nearby bog, where his father had a canoe fashioned out of pecan tree bark, moored and hidden in a patch of tall reeds. 

Though Briar had gotten used to it years ago, the smell of the bog was as pungent as ever.  Nevertheless, as soon as he’d started rowing, _Bog_ seemed to completely forget about the stench, in favor of bouncing around the boat, eyeing everything with open-mouthed awe.  The king refused to think about how… _endearing_ it was, and did his best to focus on steering them into the best spot, _without_ letting his son fall overboard.

At last, he found the perfect place to drop anchor in a patch of lily pads. 

“Thah minnows worn’t see us, so it’ll be easier tah catch ‘em.”

Then, he showed Bog how to skewer the clam shrimp bait on the clipped thorn hook and cast his shaved jute line into the water. 

“What do we do now, dad?”  The boy asked once his father’s own line was cast.

“Now we wait.”

Smiling, Bog settled into a more comfortable position and watched his sticker float bob lazily in the shallows.  After a few minutes of nothing but silence, he let his gaze drift around the bog.

It really _was_ cool; fascinating, even.  The tight cluster of surrounding trees and shrubbery made it seem like they truly were in their own little world.  Maybe the…aroma wasn’t the best, but the foliage was lush and picturesque, and the water was muddy and cold.  He waved at a family of turtles swimming by and counted the rolling clouds overhead. 

Even if they weren’t doing anything, this was nice.  Bog rarely got to spend time alone with his father outside of his lessons and training.  Occasionally, they’d eat meals together in private whenever his mother would be out visiting her home village, but that happened only twice a year at the most, and his father didn’t like to talk too much while he was eating. 

Up until now, Bog had been more and more curious about his father and wanting to get to know him better, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it.  It was no secret that the Briar King was the big, intimidating, serious type in some of the most extreme of ways.  For a while, Bog had wondered whether or not his father even _wanted_ to bond with him, but a recent conversation with his mother had changed his perception…

_Darling, your father is as stubborn as a snail and twice as shy.  He’s very set in his ways, but he would do anything for you, so if you want something to change, that’s entirely up to you._

_What do ye mean, mom?_

_I mean, that YOU’RE going to have to make the first move._   

_Me?_

_Yes, you.  I had to do the same.  Why you wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t kissed the old grouch all those years ago!_

_Ew!  Mom, I dorn’t wanna hear about you an’ dad kissin’!_

_Oh?  What’s the matter, sweet pea?  You gotta problem with your mamma’s kissin’?_

_Ah!  No, lemme go!_

_Muah, muah, muah!_

_Stop it!  Blech!_

He grimaced at the memory of his mother’s mushiness, but was determined to keep taking her advice to heart. 

“Hey, dad, I-!”

“Keep yer voice down.”  Briar murmured.  “Ye’ll scare thah fish.”

Bog ducked his head and continued in a whisper:

“Sorry, I was gonna say I didn’t know ye liked to fish.”

“…It’s always been a favorite ‘obby o’ mine.  Jus’ ‘aven’t ‘ad time tah do it as much as I used to.”

“Why not?”

“Too busy.  When yer king an' a father, ye ‘ave other priorities.”

“Oh…”

 “…”

“…Do ye think ye’ll…have more time now?  Since ye said I’m no’ a wee lad anymore?”

“…Perhaps.”

“…”

“…”

“…Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Next time ye go f-fishin’……can I come, too?”

The innocent question pierced Briar like a spear.  He felt weightless and exposed in a way that was only unpleasant due to its severity.  Tightening his grip on his rod, but risking a glance at his son out of the corner of his eye, he answered him.

“…Ye…sure ye dorn’t…find this……borin’?”

“No.  I like it out here; it’s pretty…and quiet.  This could be like _our_ place.”   

Briar bit his tongue to keep from gasping out loud at how close his son had unwittingly hit to home with his statement.  There was so much he wanted to tell him at that moment, but the absolute _last_ thing he wished to do was wreck their evening by drudging up his hellish past.  He would _not_ look back, only forward.

“Ye can come with me whenever ye want, Bog.”

No sooner had the words left his lips when Bog’s float disappeared beneath the water and the prince yelped as there was a harsh pull on his line. 

“DAD!”  Bog cried as he leapt to his feet in a desperate attempt to hang on.  “DAD, HELP!” 

“Dorn’t panic!” 

Brair hurried to secure his pole and shift closer to the boy, who was frantically wrestling with the fish.

“Easy, Bog!”  He ordered, grabbing his son’s arms from behind to still him.  “Dorn’t thrash!”

“But it’ll get away!”

“No, it worn’t.  If ye yank too ‘ard, ye’ll dislodge thah hook.  Relax.  Le’ _him_ do all thah fightin’ fer ye.  Keep yer line taunt, an' when ye feel it ge’ slack, tha’ means ‘e’s tired.  Then ye can reel ‘im in; bit by bit.”

Anxious, but trusting his father’s instructions, Bog took a deep breath and remained motionless while keeping his grasp firm.  The line jerked back and forth for what seemed like an age, but the instant Bog felt a lapse, he slowly reeled in.  However, he’d only managed a few inches before the minnow was struggling again.  The suddenness of it nearly made him drop the rod, but he managed to keep his hold secure and waited again for the fish to exhaust itself. 

“Tha’s it.  Fishin’s all about patience an’ persistence, boy.  Ye ‘ave tah outlast an’ out _will_ ‘im.” 

The next few turns were more successful, but draining.  Bog’s muscles were screaming from the persistent tension, and the sun was beating down on his back, making sweat gather at the base of his neck.  Almost unconsciously, he began twitching his wings to fan himself.

As seconds upon seconds ticked by, the temptation to sit back down, or worse, let it go, grew harder and harder to resist; but he couldn’t do that!  He didn’t want to look like a weakling in front of his father.  No, he _had_ to prove he could this, no matter how difficult and uncomfortable it was!

Fortunately, his work paid off once he at last saw a splash from the fish’s silver tail breaching the surface and, like magic, all of his fatigue and worry vanished at the sight, so with renewed strength and excitement, he reeled the minnow in faster than before on each rest.         

He didn’t know that his father had been watching him during the whole exercise with a look of admiration and pride on his sharp, scarred face. 

Briar was deeply impressed.  His son took to fishing like a natural, as he did; but he didn’t have the time to get all secretly sentimental over the fact.  Now, came the crucial moment, which was thankfully much easier with a partner at hand. 

“Keep ‘im comin’, Bog.”  Briar said, stepping around the prince to kneel at the edge of the canoe, and keeping his eyes on the approaching, tussling minnow.  “Almos’ there, jus’ a wee more…an’…GO’ YE!”

The king plunged his claws into the water, wrenching the fish out of the bog.  Knowing he had to act fast, lest the threshing minnow slip away, he heaved it up by the tail and slammed its head against the rim of the boat.  It took two swings, but finally the fish ceased all movement, and they had their prize. 

Panting, Bog sat speechless and awestruck at his father’s display of predatory skill.  He only hoped _he_ would grow up to be as strong as him some day.            

Briar lifted the minnow for a brief inspection before tossing it into Bog’s lap.  Startled, the prince cradled the kill in his arms.  It was heavy, cold, and slick, but thick with meat.  He looked at his father, and his chest swelled when the saw the blatant approval in his eyes.   

“Well done, boy.”  Briar praised with a rare smirk.  “He’s a big one; ye’ll eat yer fill tahnight.  Shall we see if ye can ge’ another?  Or if _I_ can catch one _bigger_?”

Grinning, Bog laid his minnow down and snatched up his pole.

“Yer on!”


	3. Part III

Bog didn’t end up catching another fish, but even though his father caught two, neither were as big as the first.  They stayed out until the sun vanished behind the treetops and Briar announced that it was time to go back to the tree. 

The sky was an attractive gradient of orange and fuchsia when they returned.  A happily fed Pip was waiting for them by the entrance, and a choir of frogs, cicadas, and crickets serenaded the encroaching summer night.

After lighting the fire, Briar got to work on Bog’s minnow.  He knelt down, positioned the bucket in front of him, and slit the fish’s belly open with a single talon; digging out its bones and guts and slopping it all into the wooden pail below, along with the head and tail.    

His son watched with a hungry young carnivore’s delight, but the boy was soon struck with an idea to impress his father.  An idea he’d picked up from his fall visits with his grandparents. 

“Wait, dad!”  He exclaimed, as the Briar King reached for the second minnow. 

“Wha’ is it?”

“I wanna do that one!”

Briar was surprised, but willingly held the fish out to his son, only to frown in confusion when Bog bolted out of the hollow.

“Wha’ are ye _doin’_ , boy?”

“Gettin’ a stick!”

“Thah bludy hell ye need a _stick_ fer?”

Bog didn’t answer, he only came flying back to his father with a gnarled twig in his hand. 

“Watch this.”  He said, taking the minnow and cutting off the head and tail with his claws.  Then, he jammed the stick into the gaping neck of the carcass, and pushed it straight through, forcing all the innards out the other end and pouring them into the bucket.

“Cool, huh?”  Bog asked, noticing his father’s slightly amazed expression.

“...Yes...very interestin’.  Where did ye learn tha’?”

“From Grandma Ellie.  She uses it on the guppies grandpa buys at the market.  She calls it the Wonder Boner.”

“…Thah _wha’_?”

“The Wonder Boner.  Ye know, cuz it gets rid of the bones an’ stuff?”

Briar gaped at his son for a few beats before averting his gaze as an awkward, but amused grin played at his lips.   

Bog cocked his head at him, puzzled by the reaction.

“What?”

“N-nuthin’.”  Briar dismissed, stifling a humorous snort.  “But, ah……y-ye might wanna…think of a new name fer it.”

“Why?

“I’ll, um….*cough, cough*…I’ll…t-tell ye when yer older....jus’ dorn’t say tha’ around yer mother.”

“Uh...okay...?”

Wanting to distract him, Briar stepped closer to examine his son’s eh, _contraption_ , and the thoroughly gutted minnow. 

“Tha’s quite a nifty trick, but ye cannae deny...,” he dipped his hand into the bucket, “...tha’ ye really _like_ thah mess.”

The grisly image of blood dripping from deadly claws, was nothing but inspiring in the eyes of a goblin, and Bog was no exception, at least until his father splattered the crimson droplets onto his cheek. 

“Hey!”  He cried in shock, rearing back.  “No fair!”  

Without thinking, he reached into the pail and flung a handful of blood directly at the king’s chest in retaliation. 

Everything froze as Briar glanced down with raised eyebrows at the splotch of fish gore on his scales.  Slowly he looked up at his son, and almost instantaneously, Bog feared he had crossed a line, especially when his father began to steadily advance on him. 

Bog stumbled backwards, with an apology on his lips, but his throat was too dry to voice it.  The odd thing was that his father didn’t seem mad, per say; just gravely serious.  Either way, it gave Bog the willies. 

When he felt his back hit the wall, he knew he was trapped, and he cringed as his father leaned in close enough that they were practically nose to nose. 

The seconds ticked by like hours, until without warning, Briar smirked, and Bog found himself with a face full of towel.  _When_ had he grabbed _that_?  Bog flailed and spluttered, but the soft, scrubbing fibers were gone almost as quickly as they’d come, and he then saw his father wiping his chest off.

“Well, now tha’ we’re all clean,” Briar casually observed, taking his fish from Bog with his free hand, “let’s ge’ these minnows cooked.  I’m starvin’.” 

Stunned, Bog blinked at his father as he put their meat on the spit, but soon he was smiling from ear to ear, and he eagerly joined him.    

* * *

A few minutes later, both father and son were enjoying their roasted meals.  Briar had wrapped the third in leaves, intending to bring it home to his wife the following day. 

The prince sat on the floor of the hollow, making a few interesting faces as he chewed. 

“I know, boy.”  Briar said, noticing Bog’s unsure grimaces.  “I prefer it seasoned myself, but tha’s jus’ ‘ow it is when ye catch yer food out ‘ere.  Bes’ ge’ used tah it.  Ye’ll ‘ave tah eat this way all durin’ Thah Trial.” 

Bog swallowed his mouthful and pictured himself on that day: eighteen and fierce, armed with nothing but his fangs and claws. 

The Trial was a weeklong test of maturity and survival each and every goblin had to endure.  They had to survive for seven whole days, alone in the Dark Forest, forging their own shelter and living off the fat of the land.  If they succeeded, they were officially adults.  If they failed, well...then they were dead. 

He wasn’t too worried about it.  His Trial was a long way off, and as the prince (the son of the _strongest_ and _smartest_ goblin), he could hold his own in a fight with enemies twice his size.  Plus, his access to the various maps of their kingdom helped him know even now which places would be the best to seek prey, and which should be avoided due to either danger or overall lack of game.

However, it was common knowledge that The Trial was the most daunting challenge for everyone, no matter what advantages they might have.  His mother had shown him the jagged scar on her thigh that she’d gotten from _her_ run.  The Dark Forest was unforgiving to weakness.    

“Wha’ was yer Trial like, dad?”

 Briar shrugged indifferently.

“Lost a few scales, go’ poisoned, ate a raw maggot...”

_C’MERE YE WEE BASTARD!  THINK YE CAN ‘IDE FROM ME?!_

_._

_._

_._

“...still better than bein’ at ‘ome...”

“What?”

Briar paled, realizing he’d said that last part aloud.

“What do ye mean _that_ was better than bein’ at home, dad?”

_YE THINK THAT ‘URTS, BRAT?!  AYE’LL SHOW YE WHAT ‘URTS!_

Chills raced under Briar’s skin, and his muscles tensed to keep from shaking.

_Dorn’t, dorn’t!_

“Dad-?”

“Nuthin’, son.  I didnea mean anythin’, jus’ drop it.”

“Huh? But dad-!”

“Be quiet, Bog.”

“But-”

“I SAID **_DROP_** IT!!!”

Bog flinched from the angry shout, and Briar wanted to bite off his own tongue from seeing the pure, wild fear in his son’s bluebonnet eyes.  Damn it all to fucking hell.  He’d ruined this.  He knew he would, and he was a fool for thinking otherwise. 

His fingers ached to reach out to his only child, but the spiteful part of him forbid it. 

_Dorn’t ye touch ‘im.  Ye son of a bitch, dorn’t ye dare lay one 'and on ‘im.  Ye dorn’t deserve it.  Ye dorn’t deserve tah even look at ‘im!_

“Dad...”

Immediately, Briar shot up and marched to the hollow’s opening. 

“Dad, wait!  Where are ye _goin’_?  Please, _dorn’t_ leave!”

The desperation in his son’s voice made Briar pause at the lip of the exit......and cursing his blasted selfishness, he gently replied:

“I’m...jus’ goin’ tah use thah bush, son.  Finish yer dinner.  I’ll be right back, I _promise_.” 

With that, he flew away, leaving Bog and Pip staring hopelessly after him. 


	4. Part IV

After relieving himself, the Briar King sat cross-legged on a rock with his head bowed, resting his chin over his interlocked fingers.  The sky blackened above him, making the Dark Forest live up to its name.  He saw none of this, for his eyes were closed in meditation, but though the shadows cloaked him and the air was filled with the disturbing growls and cries of countless nocturnal creatures lurking about, he was not the least bit agitated by the menacing atmosphere.

So many fools believed there were monsters in the darkness.  Briar knew better.  When you knew was a _real_ monster was, the safest place to be was in the dark.  Under a bed, in a broom closet, behind a curtain, or out somewhere, _anywhere_ , in the night.  Cover your tracks, mask your scent, make no sound, and wait it out.       

But he didn’t need to do any of that anymore.  _He_ was the most dangerous thing living in these woods.  _His_ monster was dead.  He’d killed it, _and_ its mate.  It couldn’t hunt him anymore; couldn’t make him hide. 

So why did it seem like he was?

Heaving a weary sigh, he craned his neck up to stare at the annoyingly appropriate half-moon.  Yes, his monster might be dead, but its filthy blood flowed through Briar’s veins, and he had passed it on to his innocent son as well; infecting him.  Who was the monster _now_?

Baring his fangs, he raked his claws over his plated scalp.  He was so angry and afraid, all the time.  The anger made it almost impossible to deny, but......did _true_ monsters feel fear? 

Remorse? 

Sadness? 

.

.

.

...love?      

.

.

.

No.

_No, I’m no’ a monster......but I’m no’ much better._

Training, fighting, ruling.  They were all he knew of substance to give to Bog; to protect him, to toughen him against the cruelness of the world.  Everything else, Briar had been tortured into seeing as a weakness, and _that_ was when the monster could escape; whenever he let his guard down and opened up, revealing the infection inside, ten times more ugly than his hideous face and body. 

His palms pressed hard against his temples to quell the stinging pressure behind his eyes.  He was such a fucking coward; brooding out here while his son was alone and waiting for him.  Enough of this, he had a promise to keep! 

Cracking his neck, he stood to his feet, but just before he took flight, he made a silent prayer: 

 _Be stronger than me, Bog.  Always be stronger than me._

* * *

When Briar returned, Bog wisely didn’t resume the previous subject, but the king’s chest pinched at the brief look of obvious relief on the prince’s face when he saw him enter the hollow.  He was so terrible even his own son thought he might abandon him.

Needing his pipe, Briar forced the thought away and stuffed the nightshade into the chamber.  Once lit, he inhaled slowly and felt the deadly, but soothing smoke fill his lungs and melt into his limbs.     

Significantly more relaxed, he concentrated on enjoying the rest of the evening.  Keeping conversation to a minimum, he took turns with Bog at tossing a tiny snail shell for Pip to fetch, and then was content to listen to stories of their various adventures, complete with the visual aide of shadow puppets. 

But alas, when the flames of their campfire died, leaving only the glowing embers, Briar declared that it was time for young boys and their spiders to turn in.  Bog offered no complaint other than a pouty frown, but crawled into the moss bed beside an already nestled Pip.

There wasn’t enough room in the bed for Briar to join them, but he didn’t mind.  He’d slept in far more uncomfortable places before, plus he didn’t want to sleep just yet. 

Dousing the rest of the fire, he crossed to the opening and sat down against the wall, gazing out over his kingdom of black trees and glittering stars.  He smoked his first batch to ash and replaced it involuntarily.  As much as he hated the stuff, it always kept his mind blank.  He lost himself to the late song of the Dark Forest: every owl’s hoot, every rustle of the wind through the leaves, and even the occasional bark of a fox. 

A few hours went by, and only halfway through his third batch of shade did he begin to feel the persistent itch in his throat.  He coughed as quietly as he could to clear it.  

“Dad?”

_Damn._

“Go back tah sleep, son.  I didnae mean tah wake ye.”

“I was already awake.”  Bog said, scratching his ear and stepping up to Briar.  “Can’t I stay up with ye fer a little while?  I’m no’ tired.”

Briar was tempted to say no, the boy needed his rest, but for whatever reason, he didn’t.

“Fine, but trainin’s in thah mornin’, regardless.”

Bog just smiled and settled beside his father, even mirroring his position by bending his left leg up to Briar's right. 

“What are ye doin’ up, dad?"

“Watchin’....an’ listenin’.”

“To what?”

“Everythin’.”

“Oh.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Ye do that a lot, huh?” 

“A good king ‘as tah stay alert; tah be ready tah protect ‘is ‘ome an’ people.”

“...”

“...”

“Hey, Dad?  Can _I_ smoke yer pipe?"

"No, it's bad fer ye."

"Then why are _ye_ smokin' it?"

"I can do wha' I want, cuz I'm an adult...when yer mother's no' ‘ere."

Briar tried to laugh at his joke, but unfortunately, he merely broke into a series of violent coughs and wheezes. 

Alarmed, Bog sprang up to snatch the water gourd for him, and Briar took three hearty gulps to quell the episode. 

“...Thank ye, son.”

“Seriously, dad, why do ye smoke that stuff if it makes ye sick?”  Bog asked, eyeing the pipe with concern. 

Briar exhaled heavily, and put the stem between his lips again, much to Bog’s shock. 

“...”

“...”

“......Because I’m addicted.”

“What does ‘addicted’ mean?”

_YE WANNA BE AN ADULT, DO YE?  THEN TAKE A DRAG WITHOU’ CHOKIN’, YE WEE FAIRY!_

_No, dad, I dorn’t like it!  Please, stop!_

_SHUT UP!  I’LL TEACH YE TAH SASS ME!_

“...It means I cannae stop.  I’ll ge’ even sicker if I do, an’ I’m too ol’ tah do anythin’ else about it......bu’ as long as I only smoke outside an’ I never, ever, _ever_ let _ye_ ‘ave any...then yer mother’s satisfied.”

Bog stared at him for the longest time, watching him finish the rest of his pipe and recalling so many other smoking session and sullen silences.  The few horrible things his mother had told him about his father's past had been in the strictest of confidence, but something urged him to do what, up to now, he’d either been too scared or too oblivious to do before.

“Dad?”

“Mm?”

 “......Why are ye so sad?”

The question seized Briar’s very bones.  He had no idea how to react, but Bog saw the unease on his face, and persisted before his father could say a word.

“Mom says _yer_ dad did really bad things to ye.  Is that why?  Because ye still remember it sometimes?” 

Despite biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, Briar trembled like a sapling in a tempest.  He wanted to run, but the rational side of his brain argued that Bog would’ve had to find out sooner or later, but that didn’t mean it needed to be discussed any further. 

"Bog-"

“I dorn’t want ye tah be sad, dad.”

“It’s _nuthin’_ -!  It's...nuthin' fer ye tah worry about.  All I need is ye an’ yer mother.”

“Then it’s _true_?  Grandpa really did-?”

Briar’s fist, which had been peacefully perched atop his right knee, slammed into the wall with enough force to send a tremor through the entire hollow.  Bog gulped while a furious scowl colored the king’s features as he glared murderously at the floor.

“Dorn’t. _Ever_. Call ‘im tha’.”  He growled, low and dangerous.  “Tha’ unholy _bastard_ was _never_ yer ‘grandpa’!  _Garth_ is thah _only_ grandfather ye ‘ave, do ye _understand_ me?” 

“...”

“ _Do_ ye?!”

“...he hurt ye.”

Briar whipped his head away from the boy with a huff, stubbornly refusing to answer. 

As for Bog, his distress and compassion grew to dizzying heights.  The lack of a response was instead the loudest of confirmations.  His father’s shouts and punishments might be harsh, but here was nothing more tragic than seeing him retreat into himself; to become a shell to push everything away.  To hide.

_Not this time._

Without any hesitation, Bog flung himself at the Briar King, wrapping his arms around his waist and curling against his side.

Briar couldn’t help the gasp that burst from his mouth, and he stiffened at the unfamiliar contact.    

“ _Bog_!  Wha’ on _earth_ are ye-?”

“I’m sorry, dad!”  The prince whimpered, burying his face in his father’s chest.  “I’m sorry about what he did to ye!  But I mean it!  I dorn’t want ye tah be sad anymore!” 

Ice poured over the goblin king’s scales and his heart began to pound.  He wanted to hyperventilate, and it took everything he had to keep his shuddering breaths steady and his body motionless.  His instincts shrieked at him to break free and get out of there fast.  He’d only ever allowed his wife to touch him this way, and even _that_ had taken _years_ of trial and error.  All his life, having arms around him meant that someone was trying to choke or crush him.  It meant he’d exposed himself to a vicious attack.  From _him_. 

The hollow disappeared and so many frightening encounters flashed through his mind.  So much blood and pain.  He shook all over, and a piercing ring stabbed at his ears.  Sweat gathered on the skin beneath his exoskeleton, and his eyes screwed shut. 

_DEFEND YERSELF, YE BLUDY WHELP!_

_No!  No, please!_

This couldn’t be happening. 

He was supposed to be _safe_! 

In the tree!

In the dark! 

_GE' UP!_

_Leave me alone!  Go away!_

_YE’LL **NEVER** BE SAFE FROM **ME** , BOY!_

_...Briar..._

The illusion shattered like glass at the gentle, but powerful voice. 

_Griselda!_

_Shh, shh.  Calm down, honey. He's gone._

_But he-!_

_Listen to me, darling.  He’s gone forever._

_I..._

_You_ are _safe.  No one’s going to hurt you.  It’s just me here.  Just you and me._

_Jus’......ye an’...m-me._

_Yes._

The memory melted into the present, as Briar opened his eyes and became aware of his surroundings again, especially the young boy clinging to him. 

_It’s your son, Briar.  It’s just your son._

_My son..._

_He won’t hurt you, and you won’t hurt him._

_...I worn't._

_You’re safe with him, and he’s safe with you._

_He is......safe with me._  

_He loves you, and you love him._

_...... **I do love ‘im**......_

Timid and weak as a newborn bird, but unable to deny the hunger in his soul, Briar raised a single, quivering hand and placed it on Bog’s head, holding the prince against him in a weak, but nonetheless genuine half embrace. 

“It’s alrigh’, son.”  He whispered.  “It’s alrigh’.”

_Fer both of us._

They sat there together for the sky only knew how long, until Bog fell asleep.  Briar carried his boy back to the moss bed and carefully tucked him in.  He even gave Pip a small pat. 

When he came back to his watchful spot by the edge of the hollow, his chest was lighter and his aquamarine eyes were shimmering, and they would be still when the dawn rose over their distant bog.         

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated! <333


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